


Please state the nature of your medical emergency

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 911 operator AU, AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, John was not a CIA operative in this story, Kara Stanton and Mark Snow show up briefly, No Slash, Not a lot of angst, One Shot, bear is actually a service dog!!, he was just army, thank you 911 operators for your service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 01:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Harold Finch is a 911 operator.John Reese is a frequent caller, and for some reason keeps getting routed to the same person each time...





	Please state the nature of your medical emergency

**Author's Note:**

> After that epsiode, how could I ~not~ write a 911 AU??

"911, where is your emergency?"

A grunt and then a man's deep voice, rasping and quiet, says with an almost disturbing amount of calm, "I- I believe I'm in a bit of trouble."

The operator's eyes widened with concern, but he asked with a clinical amount of tranquility, "Sir, I need you to tell me your location and the nature of your injuries or situation."

"I've been shot. Twice... In the leg..."

The man adjusted his glasses, "Can you give me a location or a description of the street you're on? I can't send an ambulance until I've got one-"

"I'm in an alley off of Burns Street in Queens." A muffled curse in the phone and heavy breathing, "Near a community house school and some pizza joint. Uh, a Nick's Pizza."

The man typed rapidly before beginning to speak in that strange serene and unattached tone, "Alright, sir, I've dispatched an ambulance, it should be on its way. I'm going to need you to remain calm, you'll be just fine. Now I need you to-"

"Reese. My name is John Reese."

"Alright Mr. Reese, I need you to tell me where you've been shot."

The man's voice was clearly strained and his teeth ground against each other, "I've got a hole clean through my," another grunt, "calf, and one lodged in the upper thigh."

An almost unheard hitch in the breathing of the operator, "You're doing very good, but it's important that you stay with me. I need you to tell me something rather important-" the wounded man interrupted, "Don't worry, it hasn't hit my femoral artery."

The operator blinked before allowing a slight smile, "Very good, Mr. Reese. Have you put pressure on your leg to stop the blood flow?"

"Already done when I was typing your number."

The operator touched a hand to his headset as he thought through the situation, "You're doing an exceptional job, Mr. Reese. Help should be there very soon-" the man on the other end of the line gasped and then a clatter emitted sharply through the headset as the phone was dropped.

"Mr. Reese?"

His eyebrows raised with alarm, "Mr. Reese I need you to answer!"

A hoarse cough and the distant ever present noise of traffic, but still no answer. He struggles not to let his unease and concern show in his voice, "...John?"

A shuffle and then, "I'm here... Just," breath puffed thickly against the speaker, "Going into shock."

The operator blocked the speaker of his headset to let out a long sigh of relief, before returning to his unflappable facade, "I suspected as much, Mr. Reese. This is perfectly normal. Do you have a way to keep warm?"

He was not able to hear John's answer. Sirens screamed through the headset, signaling the arrival of the help. The 911 operator allowed a smile as Mr Reese asked quizzically with his curiously soft yet rough voice, "Do you happen to have a name?"

He heard in the distant background the shouts of the paramedics, the rumble of a truck's engine, and a short warning warble of a siren, "My name is Harold Finch, Mr. Reese."

"It was nice to meet you, Finch."

A paramedic spoke loudly, "Sir, I'm going to need you to-!" And the dial tone rang.

Finch hung up and leaned back with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. It was late in the night and there were no breaks for 911 operators when they were short staffed.

He desperately hoped that Mr. Reese lived to see another day.

* * *

 

"911, where is your emergency?"

A chuff of breath, "There's a woman pointing a gun at a man."

Harold Finch paused before asking incredulously, " _Mr. Reese?!_ "

A short bark of muffled laughter, Harold could almost see a delighted shake of the head, "Finch! So good to hear you. I'm in a bit of a bind at the moment."

"Of course, can you give me your location so I can send the police?"

"JFK."

Harold resisted the urge to splutter, "There is a woman waving a gun around at the airport?"

"We're in a secluded area, Finch. I was just taking a walk and then happened to see this woman screaming at a man and pointing a gun at him."

"Give me one moment, Mr. Reese. Just tell me where you are in the airport and I'll alert the police to your situation." John told him, and Harold was able to send the police and an ambulance on their way. Finch did not hang up on the call, "Mr. Reese, it's protocol for me to stay on the line until you do not need assistance and may hang up."

"That's comforting, Finch."

Harold allowed a frown, "Is that sarcasm? Wait, never mind, can you give me a description of the woman?"

"Black hair, tall, pretty..." A pause and then John whispered with his familiar gravelly voice, "Finch, I think I know her. And the guy she's threatening."

"Who are they, Mr. Reese?"

"Kara Stanton and Mark Snow. I used to work with them."

Finch frowned, silently urging the NYPD to arrive on the scene faster, "That is rather troubling, Mr. Reese. I must ask for you to stay out of sight."

"I might be able to talk her down..."

"Mr. Reese, please do not try to make contact with the perpetrator, help is on the way." He heard a loud sigh, "I-" but whatever protestations the man on the other end of the phone had been about to make, never made it out. A loud bang, the sound of a gun firing, blared through the speakers. Finch gasped, breaking his casual tranquil aloofness, "Mr. Reese? Mr. Reese!"

"Relax, Finch. I'm fine. However, I do believe Mark has been shot in the kneecap."

Finch relaxed, quickly returning to his unflappable state, but telltale beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, "The police should be there any minute, Mr. Reese. I must implore you not to move from your position."

"Sorry, Finch. I gotta try to save him."

"Mr. Reese, do not try to make contact with her. Mr. Reese!"

A fumble and then all noise was muffled, perhaps the phone had been slipped into his pocket, "Kara!"

Finch waited with bated breath, eyes wide. The situation was out of his hands now. He was merely a voice in someone's pocket, a witness to a possible double homicide.

A woman's voice, cultured and eerily calm. A woman who was used to dangerous situations, "Stay where you are, John. This business is between me and Mark alone."

"Listen, Kara," his footsteps still clacked across the floor, "I just want to talk. It's been awhile... I see you've finally caught up to him, anyway."

The woman snarled, "You knew what he did?"

Finch could almost imagine it, though his picture was hazy, as he didn't know what any of the participants truly looked like. A woman with dark hair and no face, waving the gun in an impassioned tirade against some personal injury a 'Mark Snow' had committed. The man laying on the floor, holding his kneecap is a mere shadow- the only truly clear part of him was the wound in that area. The floor running red with blood. Mr. Reese, was a dark silhouette holding his arms out placatingly, "Kara, I know he was the one who ordered the termination of our contracts with his company, but that doesn't mean you can kill him for firing us."

The woman's voice shook, "He ruined my life! Now I'm here to return the favor. Besides our former business rival has offered me a job if I can discredit Snow's employer. And that's what I'm going to do."

"Kara, you can't just go around killing people."

"Why not? I'm doing it now, aren't I?"

Mr. Reese had stopped moving forward, and Kara's voice was louder, almost as if she was right next to the pocket the phone had undoubtedly been placed in.

"Kara..."

"No, John. Leave now or I will shoot you."

"Aright, alright... I'll leave."

Suddenly, there was a grunt and a smack, something clattered to the floor. Finch waited breathlessly, hoping that he wouldn't hear another gunshot, "Mr. Reese?"

A shuffle, probably Reese picking up the phone, "I'm fine, Finch. I just took care of the problem."

"Mr. Reese that was a very foolish thing to do."

"Well, it got the job done, didn't it?" Finch could hear the smug grin in the man's voice, "Besides, she's out cold, Snow isn't bleeding out anymore because I'm wrapping his leg... I can't believe she was stupid enough to let me get close to her. She should've known I'd try something."

"She probably didn't think you wee stupid enough to try something so foolish. Tell me, how is Mr. Snow doing?"

"Stop the bleeding, right Finch?"

"Correct, now I need you to-" sirens cut off his answer. John laughed, "Late to the party as usual. It's been fun, Harold." The call disconnected.

Finch sagged, relief blatantly visible.

* * *

 

"911, where is your emergency?"

A chuckle and then, "Finch, some people just broke in my car."

Harold sighed, but stayed alert, "Mr. Reese, are they still there?"

Something slammed in the background, "Yes, but don't worry. They're out cold. Or they were. I might've locked them in my trunk."

Finch rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up, "Very well, Mr. Reese, seeing as you're in no imminent danger, I'll send a dispatch your way and-"

"Not so fast, Harold. Thought we could talk a bit."

Harold huffed indignantly, the lack of an adrenaline inducing situation allowing him to lose the clinical serenity required for the job, "Mr. Reese, I am a 911 operator, and emergencies don't just stop coming so that we can have a 'chat.'"

"Relax, Finch. I've gotten your number three times now. That's far too many to be a coincidence."

"Mr. Reese, you've called 911 three times in the past month. That is far too many to happen in a single lifetime let alone a month."

There was a judgmental silence from the other end before Harold admitted reluctantly, "It is a rather large coincidence to be routed to the same operator each time. I don't know why the machine rerouted you my way. But I need to disconnect, there are other people in probably dire situations."

Reese sighed with agreement, "Alright, Finch. I guess I'll see you next time."

Finch wrinkled his nose, "I certainly hope not, Mr. Reese," he hung up, cutting off John's puff of amusement.

* * *

 

Finch sighed and rubbed his eyes, before sipping a cup of hot Sencha green tea. A long few days at the operating center had drained him, but it was nice to get outside. The cold late autumn breeze ruffled the fallen leaves, the cup warmed his frozen hands, and the lack of people (all driven away by the cold) made for a pleasant afternoon. Well, most people weren't around. A man with graying hair read a newspaper two benches over, and a little girl kicked a ball across the cold hardened ground with her brother. Presumably their mother or guardian watched them play from the trees.

Finch sighed and brought the cup to his lips, pushing his scarf down. He did like the cold, even though the events of the accident made it far more difficult for him to enjoy it. His back and neck ached, along with his hips from the firm freezing metal of his seat.

He finished his tea and hobbled up, passing the man on the bench to throw away his cup. A nervous whine came from the panting dog at his side, and Finch nodded absentmindedly, "Yes, Bear. I'm going home."

He turned and his eyes widened with surprise. The little boy, his mother, and his sister who'd been kicking a ball were standing there, eyeing Bear with childish excitement. Finch winced internally as the boy quivered with joy and anticipation. The mother gave a long suffering sigh, "Sir, can my kid pet your dog?"

"I'm afraid not, he's a service dog." The vest unfortunately hadn't deterred them. Wonderful.

The boy looked devastated at his refusal, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Oh dear. The woman frowned, "Look, please? It's just one quick pet and then we'll be out of your hair."

Finch longed for escape, he really couldn't let her children pet Bear, "I'm sorry, but-" someone tapped his shoulder, "Excuse me, is there a problem?"

The woman harrumphed, but grabbed the hands of her children and made herself scarce. Finch sighed with relief, "Thank you for helping me... Mister...?"

The man's brows rose, "I knew I recognized that voice. It's nice to finally meet in person, Finch."

Bear tilted his head at his owner's astonished reaction, "Mr. Reese!"

Reese smiled, rough voice even quieter without the filter of a phone, "In the flesh."

Finch blinked his wide eyes before asking, shifting on his still aching leg and ignoring it for the novel occasion of actually meeting one of his callers, "How's your leg?"

Reese snorted, "Much improved, Finch... Tell me, how long have you been in the lucrative business of a 911 operator?"

Bear wagged his tail enthusiastically and Finch allowed a slight smile, "Sarcasm is my forte, Mr. Reese. It's been a miserably long time, but I do hope your unfortunate occupation affords good insurance and quite a lot of hazard pay. You'll be needing it, considering how much you've already probably required it."

Reese laughed at that.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. 


End file.
